


Outtake from "The Hero of My Own Life"

by azephirin



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: California, F/M, Flirting, Impala, Magic, Outtake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-11
Updated: 2010-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:18:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is an outtake from part IV of "<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/49606">The Hero of My Own Life</a>." I wrote it, then rewatched "Heart" and realized I'd remembered the episode wrong and this couldn't happen, but I liked it too much to delete it. It's G-rated, Dean/Tonks-ish.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Outtake from "The Hero of My Own Life"

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Hero of My Own Life: Five Things That Never Happened to Nymphadora Tonks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/49606) by [azephirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin). 



> This is an outtake from part IV of "[The Hero of My Own Life](http://archiveofourown.org/works/49606)." I wrote it, then rewatched "Heart" and realized I'd remembered the episode wrong and this couldn't happen, but I liked it too much to delete it. It's G-rated, Dean/Tonks-ish.

The next place, it seems, is similarly mixed, wizard and Muggle, but the Muggles stay mainly in the strip club on the ground floor, while the wizards dance upstairs. Odd, but it came highly recommended. She consults her map—it isn't far from here. She walks the few short blocks.

She crosses the street to go in—but is brought up short by the proud black car she walks around. Her father has never lost his love for automobiles, and her family even owned one for a while—she remembers riding in it on country roads, head out the window ("Don't tell your mum!"), wondering whether this was what it felt like to fly. She remembers Sirius's motorcycle, and can't help thinking this car, sitting majestically in the moonlight, might be the four-wheeled version of that. She runs her hand across the roof, and perhaps she's mad, but it seems to warm to her touch, as though it would press back against her hand like a cat if it could. "Hello, beauty," she whispers.

"You wanna not molest my car?" says a voice, American and male.

She turns. The man is about her age, maybe a few years older, short hair, leather jacket, jeans, thumbs in the pockets. Confident—cocky, even. Tonks nods at the car. "She's lovely. What's her name?"

His face breaks into a smile, and she knows instantly that she's asked the right question. "Thanks. She's been mine since I was sixteen. Doesn't have a name, though."

"You've been driving something so gorgeous since you were sixteen, and haven't named her yet?"

"Contrary to popular belief," the man says, "guys really don't have to name everything."

Tonks snorts indelicately with laughter.

"You want to meet her? I've got to move her out of this space anyway," he says. "Want to go for a ride?"

She crosses her arms and looks him over. Arches an eyebrow. "Are you a mass murderer?"

It's his turn to snort. "No. I have a lot of flaws, but that's not one of 'em."

She inspects him some more. This isn't something she's in the practice of doing—but, then, neither is going to San Francisco at the drop of a hat. If he tries anything she objects to, she'll turn into a tiger and bite him.

"Are you a mass murderer?" he asks.

"No. Definitely not. As you say, I have a lot of flaws, but that's not one of them."

"I'm Dean," he says.

She shakes his hand. "Tonks."

"That's unusual."

"It's my surname. My first name is unspeakably awful."

He leans against the car. "You realize that now you have to tell me what it is, right?"

"It's really horrible. My mother's a good woman in all other respects, but I've never forgiven her for my name."

"Consider it a trade," Dean says. "You tell me the horrible name, I'll take you wherever you want."

It'd be nice to see the ocean, she thinks.

"Oh, fine. It's Nymphadora."

She sees him mouthing the syllables. "Huh. That's weird, but pretty. You don't like it?"

"It took me the entire year I was five to learn how to spell it!"

He laughs. "OK, you have me there. Dean's pretty easy to spell. Didn't take me long. Last name's Winchester, by the way. Just so we're even."

"Like the cathedral?"

"Uh, right. Most people say 'like the rifle.'"

"Oh. My, um, family doesn't use guns, so the cathedral is what comes to mind first."

"So no one ever called you Nymphie?" She shudders. "Dora?"

"My father calls me that," she says. "I don't love it, but he's my father, so he's allowed."

"Alright," Dean says, "so now that I know your name—and never to call you by it—where do you want to go?"

"I'm not here for very long," Tonks says, "but it would be nice to see the ocean."


End file.
